


Lying Low for Christmas

by LadyAmina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 4th Year, 4th year au, Christmas, Coming Out, Fluff, Harry pov, Harry realizing he's bi af, LGBTQIA+, Lie Low At Lupin's, M/M, Oblivious Harry, The Bi Who Lived, Tumblr Prompt, actual addressing of the feelings of Harry Potter, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 12:42:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10190117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAmina/pseuds/LadyAmina
Summary: In which Sirius decided cave-life probably wasn’t for him, and instead contacted Remus when he returned to the country to keep an eye on Harry during the Triwizard Tournament, in time to spend the winter holidays with his godson.For the prompt: Sirius and Remus have been lying low together for several months, and they get permission to have Harry visit for the Christmas hols (yule ball disregarded).  Wolfstar if you are amenable, and Harry's reaction to it.





	

  
  


Harry had had the letter in his pocket all week. He didn’t take it out to read it again, but he did flick the corner of it back and forth while he watched the snow fall on the landscape out the window of the Hogwarts Express. It was real. It was tangible. It was an invitation to stay with his godfather for the winter holiday, written in a neater hand than Harry had yet seen, though he was still positive the letter had come from Sirius. It was the difference between scribbling on a scrap of parchment in some secretive “hiding place”, and writing with a fresh quill, seated at a desk. At least, that’s where Harry imagined him writing.

Sirius had been staying with Professor Lupin for well over a month, now. Whenever he referred to Lupin in his letters, he called him “Remus”, which never failed to feel strange to Harry. He had liked Professor Lupin better than any other teacher he’d had in his life, but the idea that he was on his way to spend the holiday at his home still felt a bit surreal.

The train ride felt a lot longer on his own. Hermione and Ron had both managed to procure dates for the Yule Ball, and therefore had very little interest in spending Christmas at home. Thinking about the Yule Ball still made Harry feel a bit queasy. The pressure of finding a date; the pressure of leading the dance; the idea of putting on dress robes and spending a night under  _ more  _ scrutiny and  _ more  _ expectation… it all made him incredibly uncomfortable. So, rather than put himself through it, he had left Hogwarts without telling a soul except for Ron and Hermione - and McGonagall, who had seen him onto the train along with the few other students who would be leaving for the holidays (mostly third years and under). Let the three “ _ real” _ champions lead the stupid dance.

 

Professor Lupin met him on platform 9 3/4. Harry smiled and pulled his trunk to join him. It took them a few minutes more to finally leave together, though. Second and third years - and several older students who simply hadn’t stayed for the ball - kept stopping Lupin to greet him and ask him how he was and chat with him about their lives. Harry, who had been under the impression that he his personal connection with Lupin, even when he thought he was only his Defense professor, had been a unique one, was surprised when Lupin seemed to remember every student’s name and personal interests. He waited patiently while the man was bombarded.

They took a muggle bus to the house. Harry’s trunk received only a few odd looks, most other passengers preoccupied with their own purchases and personal business. It probably helped that he had left Hedwig at the castle.

“Everyone misses you,” Harry blurted after a moment of not uncomfortable quiet. It was a statement he hadn’t even known to be true until it was out in the air, away from his tongue. Until he had seen all of the students on the platform who clearly had. “Mad- The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is… well I suppose he’s good, but he’s  _ strange _ .”

“It’s Alastor Moody, isn’t it?” Lupin asked.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve met Moody,” he smiled. “Quite a personality. And an exceptionally good Auror. I never had him pegged for a teacher, though.”

Harry laughed. He didn’t quite know how to talk about Moody without sounding like he was insulting the man. “He’s a bit intense,” he admitted finally, “But I think it’s effective.” He didn’t add that it wasn’t like it was with Lupin, where everyone learned and wanted to learn more, but he wanted to.

 

They talked comfortably the rest of the way to a neighborhood on the outskirts of Muggle London that would have sent Aunt Petunia shrieking. The buildings were small and huddled together, and only a few looked as though they were respectably inhabited. The sky seemed greyer here. They walked another few minutes to the door of a squashed up, brick townhouse with a red door. Lupin took out a key and slid his wand out of the wrist of his cardigan to open what must have been both a muggle and magical locking mechanism.

Harry walked through first and was taking in the comfortable, if sparse, decor, when Lupin came in behind him and immediately sighed, “Oh, Padfoot, why-”

Whatever he was going to say next was lost on Harry as a great black dog nearly bowled him over. He stumbled back into Lupin, who caught him by the shoulder. Harry laughed, delighted, while the dog backed away, only to transform into his godfather, who pulled him into a proper hug.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Sirius said genuinely. Remus moved away from them to pick up something lying in the middle of the floor.

“I am, too. You look well.” He did. Sirius’s face was still pale, but his face was less obviously bony. His hair was pulled back away from his face and looked properly washed and his clothes fit well enough. Harry assumed those must once have belonged to Lupin. It was strange to think he’d only ever seen Sirius once face-to-face. He’d seen his face on posters quite a bit, and even moreso, he’d thought about it regularly since that night.

“Moony takes good care,” Sirius looked over at Remus who was shaking his head.

“Why? Why, Sirius?” He was holding a bunch of grey and lumpy white material.

Sirius shrugged. “They hardly fit you anyway.”

“That’s not the point,” Remus sounded exasperated, “You’re a fully grown human man.”

“Only sometimes.” Sirius remained nonchalant. Harry was utterly confused, until he realized that the object in Remus’s hands was the thoroughly mangled remnants of a fuzzy slipper. “I was anxious waiting for you to get home.”

Remus looked like he had a reply ready, but decided against verbalizing it.

 

Harry would be sleeping on the sofa. He didn’t mind that one bit, but Remus still promised to transform it into a somewhat more comfortable bed each night of his stay. The house was narrow but surprisingly charming. The first floor consisted of only the living room-dining room area, to which they had walked in through the front door, and the kitchen. Upstairs was the single bedroom and bathroom. The furniture was all mismatched and worn, but comfortable. The kitchen had just enough counter space to lay one cutting board. The rest was completely covered in mugs. All shapes and sizes. Some had clever sayings; some had little wizard pictures that zoomed or swirled around the ceramic surfaces. Harry wanted to look at every one of them before he had to go back to school, but that could easily take days.

He situated his things near the couch while Sirius vanished into the kitchen to throw dinner together.

“Moony hadn’t had a single full meal in twelve years until I came ‘round,” he explained when Harry joined him.

“Neither had you,” Lupin stood in the doorway with his arms folded.

Sirius looked at Harry like Lupin couldn’t hear them. “Moony had  _ chosen  _ not to eat a single meal of real food until I came back. Can’t follow a recipe to save his life.”

Harry laughed and Lupin didn’t defend himself.

Sirius, as it turned out,  _ could _ follow a recipe. Or he didn’t need to. Dinner was as delicious as any Harry had ever had. Remus and Sirius kept conversation moving through the evening. Sirius seemed perfectly at home. It filled Harry with relief to see him smile and laugh. He had been worried Sirius might feel displaced, staying with an old friend out of necessity, and he still felt like it was his fault no matter what Sirius said. He had only moved back north out of worry for Harry, he’d said so quite clearly. It had put a certain weight on Harry, but seeing him so obviously  _ happy _ , seated at Remus’s elbow, was a better Christmas present than he’d ever hoped for. And it wasn’t even Christmas yet.

With two days left until the actual Holiday, Sirius wasted no time in insisting they prepare properly. Harry enjoyed one night of peace, that first night, before Sirius flew into action. Lupin - who had requested that Harry call him Remus, which would take some getting used to - did not own any Christmas decorations. Sirius nearly walked out the front door upon learning this, intent on correcting that apparent transgression. Remus had grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him away.

“Sirius, it would be  _ just like you _ to survive twelve years’ psychological torture, escape an inescapable prison, evade capture, successfully go into hiding and then get caught purchasing baubles.”

So Harry and Remus went shopping for decorations while Sirius stayed in and prepared to make the place more festive, whatever that meant. They didn’t have much money to work with - Lupin wouldn’t accept a knut of Harry’s money - but they got a fair amount of cheap muggle decorations.

“These’ll be perfect, just wait until we charm them,” Lupin smirked while the cashier’s back was turned.

Sirius had been waiting with hot chocolate, wearing the ugliest Christmas jumper Harry had seen in his life. It had a great, bulky tree on the front made of what appeared to be actual balsam.

“What do you think? I think it’s dashing,” he spun around to reveal that the back was just as disturbing as the front, all holly and berries that looked awfully real.

“Oi, that’s mine,” Lupin -  _ Remus _ \- dropped the bags on the floor. A great chase ensued. Harry wasn’t entirely sure whether the goal was to claim ownership of the hideous jumper, or destroy it, but it was loud and lively and fun. Sirius never lost possession of the thing and he triumphantly rubbed the prickly looking holly leaves all over Remus, who dumped a plastic bag full of fake snow over his head.

Remus had not been overselling the merit of charming muggle decorations. Harry couldn’t use magic outside of school, but the two men took turns with Remus’s wand charming ornaments and candles and fake snow. By the end of Harry’s first full day with them, they had a heavily over-decorated fake tree, and a small house that looked like the inside of nine different snow globes. Fake snow fell in the upstairs hallway, colourful candles floated along above Harry’s head - eye level, for Remus - all over the first floor. Garland twisted, stretched, and wound itself continually around the banister and a few of the doorways. Whenever someone was in the bathroom, the mirror sang carols entirely off key. Sirius would not tell them how to make this stop. Showering was both hysterical and unbearable.

Hermione and Ron both wrote to Harry on Christmas Eve. Ron was still in a panic over the awful state of his dress robes. Harry had offered the use of his own, but they were about four sizes too small for him. Hermione still wouldn’t tell them who she was going with. He sent them a long letter back about everything he’d been up to. After Pigwidgeon had had a chance to thaw out in the warmth for awhile, that is.

Each night they sat around the living room listening to the wireless radio with some variation of tea or hot chocolate. Harry seemed to have a territorial claim to the sofa, as it was his sleeping place, but Remus and Sirius seemed perfectly comfortable sharing an armchair. Sirius tended to  _ perch _ , rather than  _ sit _ on any chair he was given, anyway.

They talked and talked and talked. Remus still hadn’t been able to find a job since Hogwarts. Dumbledore had provided him with a generous severance deal, though, and so he had one full year’s payment for a job he was no longer doing. He seemed to be equally as resentful as he was grateful for it.

The main topic of conversation, however, was the tournament. Harry had sent a detailed recollection of the first task to Sirius, but he wound up recounting the whole thing verbally regardless. Both men were fascinated.

“He used a broom,” Remus sighed, smiling, after Harry had finished regaling the tale.

Sirius pressed his forehead to Remus’s shoulder. He wore a warm smile that matched Remus’s, like they were sharing an inside joke. “James would’ve screamed himself hoarse.”

“He would have been so proud,” Remus clarified. Harry’s confusion must have shown on his face. His chest felt full and heavy. He wondered how his parents  _ would _ react to his participation in the tournament. Not Rita Skeeter’s absurd guess work, but how they’d  _ really _ react to it.

He told them about the egg, and the second task. They both had a lot more ideas about it than he did, but they didn’t seem convinced themselves that any of their speculations were close to correct. Harry cursed himself for not bringing the damned thing with him.

Christmas was delightful. They began it in the sitting area, Remus and Sirius huddled close together on their chair, eager to see what Harry had received from the Weasleys and Hagrid and a several other people. It was different, and not uncomfortable. Harry recalled nearly a dozen Christmas mornings spent watching Dudley open presents while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked on fondly. Remus and Sirius claimed to have exchanged their gifts with each other the night before, and seemed completely content watching Harry.

He’d gotten an interesting looking book from Hermione, called  _ Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland _ , and a sack full of dungbombs from Ron. Hagrid had been sure to see that Harry was set for sweets from then until next Christmas. Harry passed the Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans around the room while he continued with his pile. Mrs. Weasley had sent a basket of homemeades and her usual jumper, which Harry immediately pulled on over his pyjama top. It had a green dragon where his usual letter “H” would go. Sirius grumbled about it not being ugly enough for an ugly-sweater contest. He grumbled harder when Harry got to the gift from his aunt and uncle. It had been sent in brown paper with a hastily scrawled “happy Christmas” in permanent marker and consisted of a single tissue. But Harry was too busy feeling happy to care as much as Sirius did. He came to the final gift, wrapped poorly in what looked like an old handkerchief. At first, Harry thought it might be a slightly more well thought-out gift from his relatives, but when he opened it, there was a little note from Ron.

**_Harry-_ **

**_Dobby came by early in the morning and woke us all up trying to get this to you. Says he made them himself. I gave him my jumper from Mum and he nearly cried. I’m starting to really like him._ **

**_Merry Christmas_ **

**_-Ron_ **

Beneath the note was a poorly made, knobly pair of socks. One was bright red with broomsticks on it and the other was green with snitches. Harry wasn’t sure whether there had been a mistake, or whether Dobby was just confused, but either way it felt nice that the elf had thought about him.

“There’s one more,” Sirius said as Harry reached the end of his gifts. Remus pulled a small, neatly wrapped package out from behind the chair and handed it to Harry.

“You didn’t have to…” Harry began but Sirius was already waving him off.

“Of course we didn’t have to, but I saw that and thought you should definitely have it, so it’s yours. First Christmas I didn’t get you a broom,” he laughed. Harry had the distinct feeling there was more to that joke than the Firebolt Sirius had sent him last year.

It was a handy little penknife. The parchment wrapped around it explained that the attachments on it were capable of picking any lock and untying any knot.

“Whatever the second and third tasks are, that’s bound to be useful at least once. As well as any other mischief you might get up to around the castle,” Sirius winked.

“Sirius,” Remus sighed, but had no argument to give.

He thanked and hugged them both and they sat around for most of the morning making their way through Hagrid’s sweets.

Later, Harry and Remus vaguely assisted Sirius in making a full Christmas dinner out of what seemed to be a whole lot of nothing in the refrigerator. Sirius sang Christmas carols worse than the bathroom mirror, but his spirit was infectious and soon Harry found himself singing along with his absurd lyrics.

Dinner was wonderful, and afterward they all sat around the wireless again, listening to the live broadcast the Weird Sisters were doing from Hogwarts at the Yule Ball. He could practically see Ron and Hermione dancing - though he still didn’t know  _ who _ she might be dancing  _ with -  _ in the Great Hall, surrounded by all of the gorgeous decorations and more food than any number of students could eat in a lifetime.

Again, Sirius carried the mood of the evening, getting up and insisting Remus dance around the living room with him. Apparently the Weird Sisters had been around for some time, as Sirius knew most of the words to most of the songs they played.

It wasn’t until late in the evening that Sirius fell fast asleep on Harry’s sofa, tuckered out all at once. Harry and Remus sat with tea and talked. Talking with Remus wasn’t any less easy now than it had been when he’d spent time in his office the year before.

“What’s got you the most troubled, Harry?” Remus had asked after one of their longer silences. “I know there’s a lot weighing on you. What feels like the largest right now?”

“Right now… maybe the second task. Maybe the still not knowing why I’m a champion at all. It was worse before the first task, though, when Ron didn’t believe me. That was awful. But after, when he did, it sort of seemed to stop mattering to me why I was put in, I’m just  _ in _ now. But Sirius thinks it matters a lot. I know he’s right, but…” Harry looked at the serene face of his sleeping godfather.

“Well, I do think he’s right. But there’s no use in you wasting your energy trying to solve a puzzle with not enough pieces. Concentrate that energy on staying safe, always being aware-”

“Yeah, ‘constant vigilance’, I know,” Harry huffed.

Remus quickly stifled an amused laugh. “Constant vigilance?”

“It’s what Moody’s always saying.”

Remus nodded in understanding. “That sounds right. Well, then, I hate to harp on a mantra, but he’s not wrong. It’s not just happenstance that a fourth name came out of the goblet, and it’s not a coincidence that it was you, of all people, who was written into it. So vigilance is necessary. But try not to let it consume you. Take things one at a time as they come.”

Harry pondered that advice for a moment. Everything had been building up on him and he’d just been letting it all grow. The tasks, the ball, whether or not everyone hated him, his school work… Taking things one at a time seemed like a completely new concept to him.

“Thank you, Pr- Remus.”

“And anytime you need to talk, I’m an owl away as much as Sirius is.”

They talked about lighter things for awhile until Harry’s yawns became more pronounced.

“I’ll let you get to sleep,” Remus smiled while Harry tried to hide a particularly large one. Let me get this lot off of your bed, then.” Remus stood and bent low over Sirius. Remus, possible only because of his clothes and his scars, had always seemed to be on the shabbier side to Harry. But he lifted Sirius up off of the couch like he was a strangely shaped pillow. Sirius blinked awake, sleepy and disoriented, and found Remus’s face very near his own, and kissed him. Right on the lips.

Harry gave a sharp gasp that drew both men’s attention.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Remus asked, sounding worried. Sirius was on his feet in an instant.

“I-I’m alright. You- he-” Harry didn’t meet either of their eyes. He could do nothing but stand and stammer.

Sirius looked as confused as Harry felt. “What, what’s wrong?”

“You- kissed him.” Harry felt about eight years old.

Sirius’s eyebrows shot up. “I did. Does that bother you?”

“No!” Harry hastened, “No, of course not, I just… you did it on purpose, then?”

Remus snorted a laugh and Sirius elbowed him. “Yes, I did it on purpose. I do it regularly on purpose.”

“Since… when?” They had only been living together less than two months. Harry was in shock.

Sirius took a moment, presumably to do some math in his head. “Since we were fifteen.”

“With about thirteen years’ gap in the middle,” Remus corrected.

“Harry, was this not clear?” Sirius was surprised.

Everything sort of clicked into place for Harry, then. Their complete comfort with one another; their closeness in the armchair every night; their sharing of the only bed in the only bedroom in the house. “Well… it is now,” he admitted.

Sirius put a hand on his shoulder. “Moony’s not what one might call publicly demonstrative, but we weren’t hiding this from you.”

Harry’s head was spinning with the information. It wasn’t the idea of Sirius and Remus together that was hitting him so hard - on some level, that only made  _ sense _ . There was something else he wasn’t addressing yet that was throwing him for a loop. “I know you weren’t,” he assured Sirius. “I was just a bit surprised.”

When it was clear that nobody had been offended, they said their goodnights and the two men headed off to bed.  _ Together _ . Just like they had every night.

Harry put his head down on the pillow and let it wander where it wanted. He thought about the Yule Ball, and the expectation that he would ask a girl, and about Cho, and how much he really did like her when he was being honest with himself - quietly, in his own mind, never ever out loud. He thought about Cedric and how finding out Cho was going to the ball with him had felt like a blow on several levels. He thought about the veela at the Quidditch World Cup, and how he had been marginally less affected by them than everyone else had seemed to be.

He had a lot to think about that Christmas night. But he had two excellent people to talk to about it the next day, or whenever he wanted to, once his thoughts were a bit more organized. He drifted to sleep with that very comforting thought.  
  



End file.
